


Happy Endings

by gatterrwarrs



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love, boys having a hard time figuring each other out, my favorite fic trope, rated for minor language and references to drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 14:32:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16097594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatterrwarrs/pseuds/gatterrwarrs
Summary: It doesn’t surprise Garrett, exactly, how he feels when he meets Andrew.(or, in simpler terms, Garrett falls in love. And, as he's painfully aware, love has no guarantees- not for him, anyway.)





	Happy Endings

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been previously posted on both Tumblr and Wattpad under the same name.
> 
> I thought, maybe, there are still some people out there who aren't so active on either site that may want to take a gander at my little project as well- I know that I never touch Wattpad, usually, and Tumblr can be a mess to try and navigate and use (as in, why aren't my posts appearing under the tag, dammit!) 
> 
> Anyways- here it is, and I hope you enjoy it for what it's worth. Thanks for giving it a shot. More is coming soon.

It doesn’t surprise Garrett, exactly, how he feels when he meets Andrew.

He’s handsome, obviously, has a great smile, a laugh that could turn his world upside down, great taste in music and the kind of personality that makes you want to share the deepest parts of your soul with him after a couple drinks. Garrett isn’t the kind of guy who says he has a “type”, because he thinks narrowing his view will only decrease his percentile of possible matches even further, but if he did have one it would be Andrew.

So no, it doesn’t surprise him when he gets little flutters in his chest when their arms brush together, or how his heart speeds up whenever Andrew smiles at him from across some weird, crowded party. In fact, he’s delighted, if anything. Who wouldn’t be delighted to become acquainted with some sweet, nice, attractive and single guy that actually (shocker) seemed to want to get to know him?

Garrett feels, for some time, like he’s back in high school again. That he’s gawking and flirting with some new kid that sends him quick little winks from across the classroom and who lets him keep his hand on his shoulder for a few seconds past platonic. It’s a nice feeling, to be flirting again like this, to feel like maybe he’s got a shot with someone a few extra miles out of his league who doesn’t laugh at his fashion choices and talks with him for hours about something neither of them will remember in the morning.

When Andrew writes his number down on a napkin for him at a mutual friends party, Garrett feels like his chest is going to burst. When Andrew asks if he wants to grab coffee with him next week, Garrett agrees as fast as his slow little brain will let him (even though he still stutters). When Andrew leans up against him, head thrown back in laughter, Garrett feels like he’s floating ten feet off the ground.

It all adds up for a few months until, somehow, they’re close. Probably closer than most people would be after such a short time in cahoots with each other, but they both feel so naturally themselves when they talk that they don’t question it when the amount of time they spend side-by-side increases tenfold.

So it’s not weird when they end up, one night, on Garrett’s couch together. It’s dark as hell outside, a tiny little patter of rain falling, and they’re watching some horrible b-horror movie that has both of them cracking bad jokes and losing their breath laughing. It’s a couple drinks in for both of them and Garrett is pleasantly swimming through his buzz. He’s watching _Birdemic: Shock and Terror_ about as much as he’s watching Andrew from the corner of his eye, pulled up close to him on his little futon bed, legs touching and shoulders brushing with their movements. Andrew looks amazing in the flickering light of the tv, blue bouncing off his hair, eyes shiny, lips parted gently.

Garrett has been in this position before, and if it was anyone but Andrew he’d probably have an easier time willing himself up to move in for the kiss. But there’s a little more at stake here than most of his previous “couch-encounters”, because the fluttering in his chest and the weightlessness to his limbs has only gotten stronger over the past six months, and he can’t imagine scaring that all away with one stupid, overly-confident smooch while watching the worst movie on planet earth.

His own insecurities, though, are the things that he has been trying to not let control his life lately. And Andrew, perfect, handsome Andrew, is so close to him now, and if taking a risk means possibly opening up a new chapter of his life with the man next to him on this couch tonight then it’s a risk he’s willing to take.

He moves forward, slow, like a lion through tall grass, and Andrew’s phone lights up.

Andrew turns his head away, breaking his concentration on the movie, reaches over and grabs his cell from beside him.

“Hmm. Phone call. Can we pause, this is too bad for me to miss.”

Of course, Garrett goes for the remote and stops the movie in its tracks. Andrew never has to ask him to do anything twice.

 

….

….

Garrett doesn’t want to snoop. He really doesn’t, because he’s not that kind of guy. People are allowed to have their privacy, after all, he’s got his fair share of little secrets he holds close to himself. But Andrew isn’t being exactly quiet, and his voice is teasing him from outside of his apartment door, and somehow he ends up with his ear pressed up against the wood, straining to hear the conversation playing out.

He can’t tell if he’s glad he decided to listen to avoid future mortal embarrassment or if it’s the worst decision of his life so far.

He hears Andrew say babe four times total. That, in his opinion, is far too many babes for any situation.

When he comes back inside, Garrett plays it cool on the couch like he hadn’t been flat against the door. Andrew believes him.

Garrett asks, out of nowhere, who it was that Andrew had been talking to.

He says “Oh, just uh- just this girl.” With _just_ enough colour on his cheeks that Garrett would have to be a fool not to get the picture. How Andrew could possibly paint such an _ugly_ picture for him, Garrett doesn’t know.

Heartbreak isn’t the kind of feeling that sets in all at once. First, it’s disappointment. He’s disappointed in the lost opportunity, at the lack of anything more. Then it’s something like despair. Or grief. Mourning the hope, mourning the butterflies smashed to paste in his chest, mourning the weightlessness of his limbs as they all come back to him heavy as lead.

The final stage is that sadness, that sharp, heavy blade that sinks in from the top and cuts right down to the bottom, leaving nothing nice behind it. The kind of sadness that makes Garrett have to stop himself short of some kind of panic at how awful and horrible it feels all of a sudden, after a moment when he was so close to happiness he could almost taste it (taste him, his lips, still as soft as ever but now so many more miles out of his reach).

They finish the movie and Garrett drives Andrew home, and he feels guilty at the relief he experiences once Andrew isn’t there anymore because he doesn’t have to pretend that his world hadn’t just shifted and caved in front of his own two eyes.

That doesn’t stop him, though, from watching to make sure that Andrew makes it all the way back into his apartment and inside safely. Because of course it doesn’t.

 

* * *

 

It takes Garrett a while to bring himself back down to earth.

For a while, he’s kinda mad that no one _told_ him Andrew wasn’t flirting with him. That they bat for different teams, and all the pining he was doing was only going to lead him down the rabbit hole that ended in a big, unmovable brick wall.

Because he had been so, so damn sure there was something going on there; that there was some kind of shared interest, that he was being flirted with too, that the way they fit together like puzzle pieces meant that they’d fit together even better if it included fun stuff like dates and kissing and all the other things that come along with the mysterious world of dating.

But no! No, Andrew was straight the whole damn time, and Garrett was just going to have to get used to being the pining best friend. Again. Apparently, he has yet to kick his bad habit of developing an interest in straight guys that surely wouldn’t go for _Garrett Watts_ if they did happen to have some kind of bi-awakening.

Sad. It’s real, real sad.

But Garrett Watts is no “friendzone” complainer, and he refuses to become one. Because Andrew really is an amazing guy, a great conversationalist, a perfect companion, and if being friends with him comes with the price of loving him, too, then that was just something Garrett is going to have to live with. So they coast.

Garrett buys him coffee, stares at him from across rooms, places hands on his shoulders and laughs in his ear about nothing and just accepts the pinpricks in his chest as an inevitable side-effect of Andrew.

He really does expect it to get better, though. For that ache to at least become a dull throb, like a cut healing over, but it stays sharp and hot. Some days worse, like when he sees Andrew in the morning, hair tousled from bed sheets and eyes warm but sleepy, and sometimes it’s better, when he’s either high enough not to care or distracted enough with work to forget.

It makes for a long couple of years.

 

* * *

 

Shane changes Garrett’s life.

He’s his first “rebound” (a sad thought, rebounding off someone who he hadn’t even gotten close to dating), and his first new friend after Andrew. It’s fresh, new, fun, exciting, and even though they don’t work out together it feels good to be close to another person that isn’t Andrew, that distracts him and brings a different, friendly kind of light into his life. He loves the hell out of Shane, not with the same burn with which he loves Andrew, but it’s a good, solid love that doesn’t scare him or hurt him or make him want to crawl out of his own skin.

It’s comfortable and it’s good. He’s thankful for Shane more than he’s been for anything in a long, long time.

So when Shane is struggling, Garrett doesn’t know what to do for a while. When Shane confides in him about wanting to quit, to give up, to throw in the towel after convincing Garrett to take up youtube (which he has fallen in love with, too), he knows something has to change.

Again, the world is cruel. Well, okay, that’s a bit dramatic, but Garrett _has_ always been one for theatrics.

Andrew is looking for work. He’s got bills like the rest of everybody and, just like everybody, he sometimes struggles to pay them.

Andrew is smart, bright, talented and dedicated. He has great ideas and great skills, which surprises no one, and seems to constantly be fuelled by some inner passion that Garrett can’t seem to identify.

Andrew and Shane, as working partners, are a perfect match. Garrett prides himself, at least a little, on bringing them together. And it works, they do good things, Andrew gets paid and Shane gets inspired and Garrett gets to…

Garrett, he gets to…

…Well.

Well, he gets to see it all come together, at least. He gets to see things sliding into place for his friends in ways that excite them all, and he’s glad they’re taken care of and happy. Even if it means Andrew is even further tangled into his life, that he’s been struggling in the quicksand and it’s taken him up to his neck, that his heart still beats harder and faster when he sees him over at Shane’s, or he gets that familiar ache in his chest and throat and eyes at night far more often, they’re all happier for it. And that, to him, is the most important thing of all.

 

* * *

 

The pining is something that Garrett can handle, now. He expects it, so he knows how to process it at the very least. Even if his “processing” isn’t always the healthiest of methods, even if sometimes “processing” means getting a little higher than he has any business being, he can deal with it and still wake up in the morning.

When Andrew texts him at two in the morning, Garrett checks it and doesn’t think much of it. Then he actually reads it twice over, and realizes that Andrew is asking him if he could come pick him up from his friend's place. Because he’s drunk. And wants to see him.

Oh.

Oh…

…

Okay, what the hell does that mean?

And why is he saying yes? Why isn’t he even hesitating? Why is he putting on his jacket, getting in his car, driving off even though he’s already smoked half a joint and in no way should be behind any kind of wheel?

Those questions he _does_ have an answer to.

Because it’s Andrew. Andrew is asking him to. And he doesn’t think twice when Andrew asks something of him.

If that isn’t love, Garrett doesn’t know what is.

 

* * *

 

Something is wrong.

Andrew’s outside already, sitting on the curb, shivering in just a t-shirt and sweats. He’s not wearing shoes, even, just athletic socks.

Andrew isn’t wearing shoes in the winter.

Garrett is concerned far before his car pulls up to a stop a few feet away, and honestly has every right to be. It’s not the scene he’d expected to find, Andrew alone and cold and rumpled, drunk. He’d expected some sort of party, maybe, that Andrew just wanted someone to come get him because it’d gotten a little too loud and a little too stupid to be within his comfort zone.

Instead, he looks sad. Really sad. The kind of sad that Garrett has never seen from him before, and it makes his heart sink in his chest to see that look in his eyes when Andrew stands and faces the car.

“You’re not wearing shoes.”

“Guess not.”

“It’s…. it’s cold as hell, Andrew.”

“Guess so.”

Andrew gets in, buckles his seatbelt (which takes him a couple tries), and sighs. Garrett, meanwhile, cranks the heat and reaches over to point the vents towards the passenger seat in the hopes that it would start warming him up.

“What happened? Are you okay, are you hurt? Is it bad? What’s wrong?”

“….”

“Andrew.”

“….”

“…Please, can you talk to me so I know what to do?”

Silence.

“…Thanks for coming.” Is all he says. “Can we go?”

Garrett nods and pulls away from the curb, from the house he doesn’t recognize and the lights of a party coming from inside of it, and u-turns back towards their apartment complex.

It’s scary how quiet the drive is, how absent they both are from their usual easy demeanours. It’s not common to have Andrew around and not be talking or laughing or smiling widely at each other. It only solidifies the idea in Garrett’s head that something very, very bad has happened and that he has no idea what that could possibly be. Or why he’d been called, of all the people in Andrew’s life.

But when Garrett looks over at him from the road, he looks a little better. He’s looking out the window now, watching streetlamps past, and the goosebumps on his arms have disappeared. It makes him feel a little saner, but he still feels sick at the thought that he doesn’t know what’s wrong. Or how bad. Or anything at all.

 

* * *

 

“…Jeus, Garrett, I’m sorry.” Andrew says as he sits down on the futon, a hand in his own hair, looking exhausted and decidedly not-sober. “This is dumb, it’s three in the morning, I should’ve got an… uber, or taxi, or…. Jesus, whatever.”

“I’d _rather_ you text me, dummy. At least then I know where you are.” Garrett says, and regrets it instantly. He turns and locks the door behind him, using the moment to compose himself.

He shakes it off though, as per usual, and sits gently down next to Andrew. He pauses for a moment, watches him (still looks good, even wrecked and tired and sad), waiting for any kind of cues.

He doesn’t get any.

“Why me, though?” Is the question that forces itself out from his chest. He blames it on the way his mind is still foggy from the joint he’d left half-finished on his kitchen counter.

There’s a pause, but it’s not as long as Garrett thought it’d be.

“…’Cause you’re the only one who’d just, y’know, come. Not call and ask why, or say no, or be sleeping, or want gas money, or tell me I’m being, like, dramatic.” Andrew replies, and Garrett is a little surprised at how articulate he is, at how easy the words come out.

He was right. He _had_ just gotten in the car and driven there. All he’d asked for was the address, then had rushed out the door and into Andrew’s problems. Is he that predictable?

Yeah. He _is_ that predictable. He should _know_ that.

“Garrett.”

His own name draws him out of his thoughts. Andrew is there, looking right through him, his expression unreadable but not as scary as it had been out by that curb.

“If I remember this I’ll tell you everything in the morning, ‘kay? I just wanna go to bed. Can I go to bed?”

As if Garrett would say no. As if Garrett would ever, for any reason, consider saying no to Andrew Siwicki.

He grabs him an extra blanket, because he still looks cold, and then grabs one for himself to sleep under on the floor.

 

* * *

 

Garrett wakes up a little earlier than he normally would, joints aching, back sore, and bruises on his elbows and knees. The joys of sleeping on his floorboards for a solid seven hours. It does make it easier to get up, though, because he doesn’t want to spend another minute sprawled out in the cold, so he pulls his sorry ass off the floor and stumbles into his kitchen.

From there, it’s pretty much the same morning routine. Besides finishing that joint he’d abandoned last night, which he figures is the perfect medication to slow his brain down once he remembers the cryptic shit Andrew had said the night before. He makes himself a mug of coffee in his French press, smells it, takes a slow sip and burns the roof of his mouth.

Typical.

When he comes back into the Livingroom, Andrew is sitting up, blanket pulled tight around his shoulders, watching him.

He almost drops the mug of coffee, but instead places it down in front of Andrew as if it had been meant for him the whole time.

“Thanks,” Andrew says, voice thick and rough.

Somehow, for the first time in a long time, Garrett feels like he shouldn’t sit next to him. That it’d be too close, that Andrew wouldn’t want them to be touching, that he should stick to the classic “personal-space-bubble” idea that had been drilled on him as a kid when he’d get too close to other boys.

He actually has to remind himself that it’s Andrew he’s talking about, here, Andrew who would lean against him just as easily, wouldn’t push him away, would fall asleep with his head on Garrett’s shoulder and not move away once he woke up.

Garrett shakes it off. He sits down next to Andrew.

And then it’s quiet.

…

Too quiet.

Things aren’t supposed to be quiet with Andrew unless they were much too preoccupied to talk. But even then, the silence would be comfortable, like a warm quilt or falling asleep to infomercials. Instead, now, it’s tense and thick and awkward, and holds a weight to it that makes Garrett shift in his seat and picture all the other places he wishes he was.

“…Do you remember?” Garrett asks, breaking the silence to avoid losing his actual mind.

“Remember what?” Andrew blinks a couple times, shifting to grab the coffee from the side table, looking dazed and hungover and lovely. There’s a lock of hair that’s out of place, hanging over his forehead, and Garrett wants to do nothing but reach up and push it back. He doesn’t.

“Last night.” Is what he says instead.

“….Oh,” Andrew takes a sip from the coffee. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

“You said you’d tell me if you remembered, y’know. And not to be _that_ guy but I _did_ find you alone, in the cold, shoeless, _and_ let you crash my couch. And don’t forget the coffee, I made you coffee!”

As if he wouldn’t have done all of those things twenty times over if it meant Andrew was okay and safe. As if. There’s a moment of silence, though, after he says this, and Garrett feels like maybe he did something wrong again and can feel his poor heart beating against his chest. At this rate, Andrew was going to send him into cardiac arrest.

“Where’d you sleep?” Andrew pipes in with. Finally, he’s looking at Garrett again, eyes searching and inquisitive, pretending that he hadn’t just pulled off the biggest subject change in human history.

“The floor.” Garrett says, as if that should be obvious.

“Garrett!”

“Well, you had the bed! You were cold!”

“You could’ve slept on the bed too.”

That makes him short-circuit a little.

No, he hadn’t shared the futon with Andrew, because he’d convinced himself a long time ago that if he pushed himself too close then Andrew would start pushing back, too; pushing him away because he’d get suspicious of Garrett, of his stupid, school-girl crush, and when he found out he’d be too uncomfortable to even look him in the eyes again, let alone share movie nights or morning coffees together. So no, of course he hadn’t slept in the same bed last night, while Andrew was drunk and sad and confused.

But then Andrew just says he should’ve like it was obvious. Like he _clearly_ could’ve slept there, like he wouldn’t have to ask, like it was a simple math equation that Garrett was dumb for not knowing the answer to.

Interesting.

There’s another thick pause, there, but Garrett knows he has to keep moving this forward because Andrew sure as hell isn’t going to.

“…listen, if you don’t wanna tell me I won’t force you. But you kinda scared the hell outta me. You still are, a little.” He prods, pulling at a loose thread on his shirt.

“…It’s just, it was- it’s stupid. All so, so stupid. Just girl stuff, Garrett, just. Relationship stuff. Uh, I don’t know, feels weird talking to you about my breakups?” Andrew shifts, sighing, shaking his head. He looks nervous, and that doesn’t surprise Garrett in the slightest.  “…I don’t know why I called you last night, I should’ve just gone home or stayed there, or something-“

“ _Andrew,_ don’t spiral.” Garrett interrupts.

“…I wasn’t spiralling.” He says, and looks so dejected and tired that Garrett wonders what the hell possibly _happened_ last night that got him so bad.

He also feels like he’s not being told everything. That Andrew is clutching onto a piece of the puzzle that he doesn’t want Garrett to see. It scares him, really, because he just doesn’t know how to help without seeing the full picture. Or what to do. And that’s not a feeling that Garrett likes.

“You were spiralling _so_ hard,” Somehow, they’re making eye contact. Again. It almost makes Garrett feel sick. “And you called me because I’m your friend. And, I think, you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you. More than anyone else, apparently.” Andrew responds, faster than Garrett would’ve expected.

He trusts him. He trusts him a lot. That’s probably a good thing.

Silence again, but this time it’s Garrett who doesn’t know what to say or how to proceed.

“…So, a breakup?”  He asks, in place of anything meaningful or comforting.

Andrew nods.

“That fucking sucks, Andrew. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Andrew replies. He leans against Garrett then, shoulder to shoulder, pressing up against him, the coffee Garrett made him in his hands. It’s all very domestic and it makes Garrett’s heart flip-flop in his chest. “It’s fine. Promise. Sorry I scared you.”

“…Okay.” Garrett says back, and to hell with it, he leans back against him, too.

 

* * *

 

Things go back to normal only for a very, very short amount of time.

Well, besides the fact that Garrett now feels like Andrew’s hiding some big secret from him. But of course that doesn’t drive him away, or make him want to spend less time together, or deter him from talking until four in the morning on weekdays like it’s nothing.

It doesn’t make Garrett feel like pulling away at all.

But Andrew isn’t quite on the same page, there.

It starts with a few unanswered texts, which Garrett shrugs off because Andrew still meets him for coffee a few hours later and acts like nothings different. It doesn’t get better, though, because he cancels plans for that weekend, then doesn’t show up to his door for movie night and later tells him he’d been out with other friends.

It’s… well, it hurts. It sucks.

Garrett had really thought he’d settled into an uncomfortable little routine with his whole “unrequited love” schtick. Every time he spent the night rolled up in his blankets, alone, sad, he’d remind himself

that even though he couldn’t have Andrew during the night he’d be able to have him for the day. That they could still laugh and talk and bullshit together and that there wasn’t anything that could come along and ruin that.

But something did. And god, Garrett doesn’t even get the privilege of knowing what that something even was. Instead, it’s a secret, and one so well-kept that Garrett can feel it growing, creating a black-hole in the center of their friendship that was sucking Andrew in.

A dramatic analogy, sure, but that’s just what it felt like.

So as Andrew cancels more plans and Garrett spends more long nights alone, hotboxing his bedroom with the smoke detector dangling by the cords, he starts feeling like his options are dwindling. That Andrew isn’t coming around, isn’t phasing out for some brief moment, but is instead pulling away on purpose for some reason or another and isn’t coming back.

Really, there are two plans of action. The first one makes Garrett feel sick, because it consists of sitting back and letting Andrew drift to wherever he felt he needed to go, even if that meant slowly losing him until he was just some washed-up memory or co-worker. The second one also makes Garrett feel sick, because it requires him to confront Andrew on what the hell is going on; something that will either start the reparations of their friendship or be the straw that breaks the camels back.

Only one of them has the possibility of leading back to that closeness that Garrett needs back in his life, though. Even if it’s the one that means doing something kinda mean, putting Andrew in the exact kind of situation that would make him nervous and scared and jittery (the kind of Andrew that Garrett always tried to never see).

But he can’t lose him. Not now, not ever, forever. And sure, that’s desperate and toxic and selfish. It’s Garrett just thinking about how he feels and ignoring what Andrew might want.

It’s too late, though. The train has sped up and up and up and has finally lost all control, and Garrett just has to hold on tight enough not to be thrown off.

 

* * *

 

It shouldn’t be so hard to get Andrew alone. It never had been, before. They’d be alone together at least five times a week, if not more; so when Garrett finally just has to show up at Andrew’s front door unannounced it makes him feel even worse about everything.

Now or never, he thinks, already bordering panic as Andrew unlocks his deadbolt and looks surprised.

The way his eyes widen, looking distinctly like a deer in the headlights, almost makes Garrett want to laugh if it wasn’t so heartbreaking to be looked at like that. As if he was a car about to strike Andrew down. It only makes his confidence shake further.

“Andrew,-“

“Garrett.” He says, and Andrew’s voice is set in a tone that Garrett has never heard before. It’s not mad or upset or startling, but it’s low. And strange. It makes him want to turn back around and head straight to bed.

“…Can we talk, please?” Is what he responds with instead of cowering away. It takes the willpower of a thousand men, but he’s committed to his choices thus far. “Do you know you’ve been avoiding me?”

“…yeah.”

“Okay,” Garrett says, and it kind of breaks his heart a little more than Andrew knows, but he still had to be the one to push for contact. “…okay, why? …It’s about that night, right? When I picked you up from that party?”

“…I have to, don’t I? You’re not gonna let me dodge it anymore, right?” Andrew responds after a pause. He’s not looking at Garrett anymore, not directly, instead fixing his gaze on the door beside him. It’s an avoidance technique, clearly, because Garrett has just dug up a nerve that Andrew had been desperately trying to numb.

“Not if it means you’re gonna keep treating me like the plague, no.” Garrett answers in a rare moment of confidence.

“If it’s gonna be like that then you better come inside.”

 

* * *

 

Andrew’s couch has never felt so uncomfortable. Garrett feels like he needs to move, like his fight or flight instinct is telling him to flee lest he explode from anxieties. Instead, though, he settles for bumping his leg up and down. A classic.

“There was… Okay, so I told you I broke up with this girl, but that’s… Well, it’s only half true? I did break up with her, but it was… I don’t know, I think a week at least before that party, so it wasn’t all about that. It sucked, or whatever, but that’s not what…. That was about.”

“…So what was it about?”

“…I-“ He sighs, sinking even further into his loveseat, hands tangled in his own hair. “It’s weird. And I don’t know how to say it?”

“Okay. Try?” Garrett asks, leaning forward, eager.

“Jesus, Garrett, come on…”

There’s a pause as Andrew collects his words. Garrett prides himself on his patience, here, because he feels like if he has to wait any longer for the answer to this question he’s going to start begging on his knees.

“There was a guy. At the party. Kinda knew him, kinda didn’t, doesn’t matter- but… okay, okay so I had a few drinks, so did he, normal, uhm- party stuff, I guess, but…”

“…But?” He encourages, prodding just enough to get Andrew talking again rather than overthinking each syllable.

“…We ended up alone. And I don’t know, I don’t know how it happened, but we were on the… the bed. Before you freak out, because I can see it on your face from here- I wanted to. I got there first, okay? It’s not like that. It’s weird but it’s not like that.”

Garrett has no idea what to do. He doesn’t know what to say. How to react. He doesn’t know anything, in this moment, besides the sinking feeling in his chest.

“But it happened really fast, and I don’t know- I did what I do. Things got intense and I freaked out, ran, forgot to put my actual shoes back on, apparently, and I…. I called you. I was thinking about you, so I called you.”

…

…So.

That’s what it was.

Andrew had a bad experience. Had gotten to some kind of base with another guy, and it had bothered him so much that he’d figured it out. He’d noticed. He’d caught wind of Garrett’s creepy crush and had decided that he couldn’t have that happening to him. So he’d slowly started to pull away in the hopes that Garrett would give up, as though he hadn’t done so years ago.

He feels, actually, like he might puke.

“Oh.” He says. “Okay.”

It’s not.

“I didn’t tell you because I just… Didn’t- I didn’t know how. I still don’t know how.”

This moment, now, feels worse than the past few months ever had. Now he feels like his grip is slipping on the situation, like his boat is soaring towards a waterfall and he’s lost both his paddles. It feels like he’s going to walk out of Andrews apartment to silence and that will be the last time he sees him.

It feels like he’s losing Andrew.

It’s enough to make him panic.

“Let’s get coffee tomorrow morning. Please, let’s get coffee. Can we?” He asks, and he hates how desperate and sad it sounds, his voice tired and waving in and out. It’s pathetic, but it’s too late to take it back now.

“Okay. I’ll come over in the morning?” Andrew responds, clearly confused.

“…Yeah. Just, y’know, knock. Really loud.”

“I know.” Andrew says, and even though he smiles Garrett still feels hollowed out.

 

* * *

 

It seems like he’s leaving something important behind when he heads back to his own apartment. Like something major still hangs in the air, unsaid but incredibly pertinent.

It makes him tired. Tired enough that, tonight, he doesn’t need to smoke to fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

It’s not perfect. That isn’t truly a surprise; there isn’t a whole lot in Garrett’s life that is perfect, and the rare times they are something always comes along to shift the balance. Not that he’s a pessimist in any means- far from it, actually. But he’s realistic in that he knows that he can’t expect the world to lay itself out for him to walk all over.

He’s just glad Andrew isn’t shying out of his life anymore. That’s all he could possibly ask for.

So what if maybe the smiles are a little forced? And so what if there’s a pillow between them on the futon, now? So what if Andrew is spacey and unfocused while Garrett struggles with what words to say? So what?

At least they’re together. At least, maybe, they can fix it. At least. Right?

He doesn’t know.

 

* * *

 

He has a dream.

He’s in his bed and it’s warm, all soft white-cotton sheets (that he doesn’t even own) and golden-yellow hues. It has the sleepy vibe of waking up early on a weekend with nowhere to be but there. It’s lovely.

And then Andrew is there. He doesn’t remember turning over or moving, but now Andrew is in front of him. He’s close, close enough that Garrett can make out the brown of his eyes in the soft bedroom lighting and the way it shines so delicately through his hair.

He’s smiling. He’s smiling and it’s beautiful, only amplified by that thick, cloudy, dreamy quality to the air. For the first time in a long time, Garrett feels like he’s floating again. Like the puzzle pieces of his life are all put together, like the picture in front of him is exactly the one he wants to see.

Andrew laughs, but he can’t hear it. That almost makes him sad, if everything else wasn’t so perfect, if Andrew didn’t look so peaceful and content and handsome next to him, hair messed and with the collar of his shirt pulled down just enough to see the top crest of his shoulder. There’s a dotting of freckles there.

But dreams end. That’s how you know they’re dreams; because no matter how real and tangible and beautiful they are in the moment, you have to wake up from them and realize they weren’t anything at all.

So, Garrett takes in one last look at Andrew in bed next to him, and then wakes up in the dark sprawled across empty sheets.

Oh.

Okay. That’s fine.

He gets up, knocks back a cup of water. Realizes that isn’t quite going to do the trick and cracks open the Sambuca bottle in his freezer. 

 

* * *

 

There’s a sound.

It’s loud.

Garrett rolls over.

Pulls a pillow over his head.

It’s… yeah, it’s still there.

_Thun Thun Thun_

…

…

_THUN THUN THUN_

…

Okay, to hell sleep this morning, he guesses. It’s a bit crass of a thought, but being woken up suddenly can have that effect on people.

What he isn’t expecting, after he puts on a shirt and manages to locate his glasses, is for Andrew to be at his front door. It surprises him so much, in fact, that he rears back from the peep-hole like it’d burned him.

He considers, for the shortest of moments, pretending to be sound asleep and crawling back under his sheets. But he hasn’t broken his streak of denying Andrew thus far. Plus, after that dream? How could he not let him in? How could he not want to look at him, be in his presence, pretend what it would be like to take him in his arms, and then…

And then he opens the door. The flick of the deadbolt sounds like a guillotine hitting the chopping block.

“Hey!” He says, in that nothing-is-wrong tone he loves so much.

Andrew, normally, would follow suit. Would smile and nod and shove some kind of treat he’d bought for Garrett into his arms and them follow him inside, ask what’s up, keep the conversation rolling. Show him an Instagram post and tell him about the new song he discovered the night before. It would be simple, it would be kind, it would be everything Garrett would expect while just short of what he actually wanted. But it would make him smile all the same.

But he doesn’t do any of those things. Instead, he looks up at him.

Neither of them are smiling.

“Garrett, do you trust me?” Is the first thing Andrew says.

“Yeah. I do.” Is all Garrett can reply with, considering it feels as though the air has been sucked from his chest.

There’s the kind of pause that makes Garrett’s heart race. The kind of pause that holds far too much thought. The kind of pause that means there are decisions being made. The kind of pause that comes before bad news, before heartbreak, before world-collapsing conversations.

He can see Andrew thinking. He can see it in the way his eyes narrow and his bottom lip finds its way between his teeth. Garrett just wishes he knew what those thoughts were. He wishes he had any tiny little clue as to what they could be.

But he doesn’t. As usual, when it comes to Andrew these days, he just doesn’t know. The confusion and the distance is the kind that bites at his chest, makes his breaths come short and shallow and his head spin.

He thinks if he waits anymore for whatever earth-shattering thing comes next, he’ll probably collapse. Likely die.

He thinks.

He thinks.

He…

He’s…

He’s very close. He, _Andrew_ , is very close.

Garrett feels how his grip tightens on the doorframe. He registers how his mind is pulling him away, telling him to back up, close off, get out of there; but he’s still leaning forwards. Intentionally closing the distance, like the answer to everything is written in Andrew’s eyes and if he could only _get closer_ he’d be able to see it all.

There’s hot breath on his lips. It almost scares him, out here in the cool breeze of an early morning. It almost jars him enough that he pulls away- but the way Andrew is looking at him leaves him unable to move. He couldn’t, not even if he wanted to.

And he doesn’t want to. Not ever.

Not ever.

His lips are soft. They feel like what Garrett had figured they would, but real. Tangible. Not some half-baked daydream, but physical and _there_ and everything.

Garrett hates every second he isn’t looking at Andrew, but he still closes his eyes as they gently move together, as his mind tries to get a grip on what’s happening. That he’s kissing Andrew; that Andrew is kissing him back. That they fit together so well. That Andrew has gently tilted his head for a better angle, that there are little soft noises between them. That there’s a hand on his chest now, warm and solid.

It’s not as good when it stops. When Andrew pulls back, leans onto the heels of his feet.

But it’s okay.

It’s okay because he’s not running. Or turning away. He doesn’t look distraught or confused or mortified like Garrett had always imagined he would.

There’s wind in his hair, light in his eyes, colour to his cheeks and he’s smiling up at him.

Andrew Siwicki just kissed Garrett Watts on his front step and is looking at him like he just bought him the moon and the stars.

 

* * *

 

Eventually, they end up back in Garrett's house.

He’s honestly not sure how or when that happened; he’s a little out of it in this moment. It feels like his world is covered in some thick haze- a dreamy peach-fuzz softness on all the corners that had just been digging into his sides.

They’re on his couch.

Andrew is on his couch, and he looks good. Obviously he looks good- he’s never looked anything but. But he looks better now than he had the past few months. He doesn’t seem detached or distant or sad. It’s like, for the first time, Andrew is really there next to him. _Really_ there.

It’s a lot for Garrett to take in, especially when his lips are still warm and tingling and searching for more touch like he’d felt on his doorstep.

They’re silent, but it’s not painful like it had been. Seeing Andrew think in this moment is nothing like before. It doesn’t feel like every second could be leading to the last. Like he needs to swim in Andrew’s presence just in case, this time, he would drown and never come back up for air. Instead, he’s floating on the surface.

He’s floating, gliding so easily, head and heart full of air that he doesn’t even really feel when Andrew takes his hand in his. But he notices. He squeezes back, feels how warm Andrew’s palm is against his fingertips.

“I’m sorry.” Breaks the silence. Garrett looks from their entangled hands (something he has pictured so many times, watching Andrews fingers curled around coffee and cameras and bottlenecks) up to his eyes. Lovely, brown and searching for Garrett’s own.

“Oh,” Is all Garrett’s tired, overworked brain can come up with. “…Why?”

“Garrett. C’mon. I’ve been… well, I’ve been kind of an ass lately. Like, really bad.”

Was that true? Was that what _Garrett_ thought? _Had_ he been an ass?

“I wouldn’t say _that_. It’s not like you punched me and threw sand in my face or something.” Garrett rebuts.

“Oh no, I just treated you like garbage for six months. That’s fine, I guess.” Andrew says, and the dry, sarcastic, sad laugh that escapes him makes something in Garrett’s chest seize. No, he didn’t like that.

“Don’t,” Garrett says. He pauses. “Why _did_ you pull away?”

“I was… I got…,” Andrew sighs. It’s the sound of him giving up on overthinking. “…Confused? And scared, I… I didn’t know what to do. I got stuck between wanting to… to do something about it and not wanting to mess it all up? Every time I’d get close I’d just… I’d panic. Like at that party. I just… I panicked.”

They let a moment of silence surround them. It’s not deafening, but instead the kind of quiet that comes when two people have connected something that has gone undone for far too long. The kind of quiet they both need.

“And you couldn’t stop panicking?” Garrett asks. He squeezes Andrew’s hand, gently.

“No. I couldn’t stop.” Andrew squeezes back. They feel good, together.

Garrett shakes his head. The smile on his face isn’t meant to be there, he knows, but he can’t help it. Because he _understands_ this. This is something he knows well. For the first time in far too long, he understands something about Andrew Siwicki and god _damnit_ , he’s going to smile.

“Andrew, that’s… yeah. Trust me. I get that. That was called literally all of ninth grade, for me.”

“… _oh_ ,” Andrew says. “…Yeah, I guess that. That you… ugh, sorry, I don’t know.”

At this point, after everything, as Andrew’s last words shake around the apartment, Garrett really isn’t sure if he _should_ be upset. He doesn’t know if it was fair for Andrew to pull away so hard, to crumble the structure of his life, to bury him alive with every missed text and silent car ride.

It had hurt. It had hurt more than anything had ever hurt in his life. It was the dull ache in his side he’d lived with for months.

But that look in Andrews' eyes, the way his hand is so strong on his own, how their legs are firmly together now without a space in the world between them… that’s enough of an answer. That’s the kind of answer that tells him that Andrew is sorry. That he really, really is; that it was a mistake. A gut reaction that had hurt _both_ of them, the tearing open of a rift that would be felt on both sides.

A rift that could be closed. A tear that could be mended, if they both wanted to.

And Garrett wants to. And he wants Andrew to want to.

“Are you here now?” It’s cryptic. And sudden. He’s not sure if Andrew will know what the hell he’s even talking about, and that’s unacceptable in this moment. “I mean, like, is this for real? Do you really-“

“Yeah. Garrett, I’m here now. I promise.” He says, and it sounds like he means it. If Garrett is sure of one thing, it’s that Andrew means it.

That, and now there’s a hand on Garrett’s thigh that hadn’t been there before. It’s solid, warm, comforting. Andrew’s thumb rubs little circles into his skin.

Garrett lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. It’s quiet in his home, besides the sounds of a car passing out his window and crickets from the backyard.

When they kiss, again, it’s better than the first time. It feels like moving forward. It feels like future. It feels like promises of late nights, of hard laughs, of lips pressed together in the afternoon and whispers into ears at midnight. It feels like waking up next to Andrew in the morning with gold light shining through his hair and his soft hand on Garrett’s cheek.

It feels like the scene right before the credits roll, when the world is saved and the boy gets the girl and everyone has their happy ending.

This _is_ Garretts happy ending. Because it means that Andrew is happy, too.

 

* * *

 

When Garrett opens his eyes the next morning, it’s Tuesday. When he opens his eyes, he’s thirsty and sore from his crappy mattress and feels like he needs a cup of coffee and a shower. When he opens his eyes, he opens them to Andrew.

And Andrew opens his eyes to Garrett.

And they smile.

And they laugh.

And they get up and get ready and get breakfast from McDonald's because Garrett’s fridge is empty. Garrett repeats Andrew’s Starbucks order into the drive-through speaker around a mouthful of bacon and egger. They drive down the freeway and Andrew bops along to the music in the passenger’s seat.

Their hands are clung together over the center console and even though Garrett’s palm is freezing and clammy Andrew doesn’t say a word. That’s just fine, because Garrett won’t say that he hates the next song that Andrew plays through his aux cord.

And Andrew won’t accept Garrett’s apology about the garbage on his floor, but collects it and tosses it out anyway when they get to Shane’s.

It’s the same, but it’s different. It feels like things used to. Like the buildup and hope that Garrett had felt when they’d first met and Andrew had given him his number. The butterflies in his chest when they’d gotten coffee together the first time and Andrew had softly smiled across the table at him with all the love in the world.

It’s like his life is back. Like the sun has been put back into the sky and Garrett can start turning again.

And if, now, they steal a quick kiss on Shane’s front step, who’s going to care? Who’s going to tell them not to? If they sit a little closer, look a little longer, smile a little brighter?

It’s their story now. They get to chose. They get to not be afraid, anymore. Together.

They get to ride off into the sunset in Garrett’s Toyota Prius and pretend that the world revolves around each other’s touch.

Garrett gets to forgive, and Andrew gets to love.

And they are good. And everything isn’t perfect, because Garrett knows it’s never perfect, but it gets to be good and there’s nothing more he can ask for.

Because Andrew is happy.

The best part? He’s happy with him.

And that will always be enough.


End file.
